


Leave One Wolf Alive and the Sheep are Never Safe

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Series: Robb and Theon [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Lost Love, M/M, Memories, Misplaced jealously, Motivated by the wrong reasons, Pining, Robb Stark is a Gift, Theon is a moron, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: this one is much darker towards the end. i’m sorry :/





	Leave One Wolf Alive and the Sheep are Never Safe

**Author's Note:**

> this one is much darker towards the end. i’m sorry :/

A fortnight was not long enough. Theon watched Robb saddle his horse in the frigid night air, mused and decided next time he would convince him to stay until winter turned spring.  
  
“If it’s just a nights ride to your camp, my Lord, why don’t you stay until morning?” Theon brushes up against Robb’s back, cups his nape and feels him push against the touch, yearning.  
  
Robb sighs, deep in his chest, twists around to face him. “You know that I cannot, Theon. And don’t call me that.” Theon smiles weakly, brushes Robb’s curls back from his forehead.  
  
“Come find me soon, your grace. Or I’ll have to steal you out of your tent at Riverrun myself.” Theon whispers against his lips, firey and light. Robb shivers in his hold and stares at him with those kingly eyes.  
  
“Wouldn’t it be easier,” Robb pauses to chastely kiss him, “If you just came along with me.” Theon guaffs at that, smiles until he sees Robb isn’t.  
  
“You serious?”  
  
“Of course I am you buffoon. My mother would probably like to see you.” Robb tilts his head, pulls back a little. The moonlight is reflecting on his auburn curls, painting them gray. Theon thinks he’ll look like Ned then, when he’s older.  
  
“I don’t know Robb. Shouldn’t I stay here, say that I bend the knee to the true King of the North? Gives you a good reason to return.” A tiny voice nags in the back of his mind. Catelyn Stark would not want to see him. Robb is naive, he will not be welcomed back with open arms. He’s too gentle to be king.

  
“Politically speaking, yes.” Robb gives in, he can’t ever say no to Theon.  
  
“I’ll see you soon then, my Lord.” Robb smacks him on the back of the head as Theon gives a sorry excuse for a bow.  
  
“Theon, you’re a good man. Thank you.” Robb says, voice soft. Theon’s not a good man. He knows that, but gods Robb could spew hatred and darkness and lies yet make it sound sweet and true.  
  
Theon watches him trot off into the inky darkness, until his horse is out of sight and earshot, turns around to go inside and lays in his bed, Robb’s bed, until the sun stretches into the windows.

The people of Winterfell aren’t happy to see him, for good reason Theon knows, he killed their people in the name of Balon Greyjoy, he was horrible to them. He tries to gather the crowd without sounding harsh, hands shakily signaling them closer. He looks out upon those faces, once so familiar, the faces who knew him as Theon; Ward of House Stark, the scrawny eight year old heir to the Iron Islands who had no idea his former rank and title.

“I’ve gathered you here not to boast the strength of the Ironborn, I feel that I’ve done that enough. I wish to inform all of you that I’ve bent the knee to our rightful King, Robb Stark.” The words feel heavy and strange in his mouth, taste coppery as he says them. They’re true, he knows, he would follow Robb to the ends of the realms if he so needed. The crowd murmurs within themselves as Theon stares out mutely, waiting. “Winterfell is my home. It’s always been, and I have been as of late cruel to my home and my people. I beg your forgiveness, humbly, I do not come to you as Theon of the Iron Islands but as Theon Greyjoy, a man loyal to House Stark.” The people just stare at him, stock still, Northerners are not forgiving, he knows.

A small voice wavers up from the crowd. “We defend Winterfell for the King of the North!”

“The King of the North!” Theon takes that as the closest thing to a apology accepted that he’ll get from these people. He knows that he should send a raven, tell Robb that there is peace in the North, for now, but knows that he’s probably with his wife now, laying with her, probably gently kissing her in his way.

Theon hates his jealousy, hates the bile that coats his teeth when he thinks of Robb loving anyone but him. They’d been laying underneath the sacred tree, Robb had just finished muttering his prayers to the seven, had elbowed Theon roughly until he’d gone and thanked the Drowned god, ironic to pray when you were neck deep in sin.

“You think you’ll ever marry, Theon?” Robb asked nestling himself in the roots of the tree.

“No.”

“Why not? You love Ros too much, eh?” They were still pretending, then, pretending that this raw thing between them was simply teenage lust and need.

“I love you, and I can’t imagine ever fucking anyone else again. I’ll always seen you, want you, it’s always going to be you.” The words had spilled out before he could even attempt to stop them, and Robb had opened one icy eye lazily, feigning nonchalance.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that, you know.” Robb had said.

Theon sat up, bark scratching his palms. “Yes, I know that, thank you.”

“I always thought I’d be the one to say it first.” Robb sounds desperate. as if he is trying to convince himself of it. “I love you Theon and I wish it wasn’t so complicated to do so.”

“Love is a tricky thing my prince.” Theon tells him amicably, enjoys how red Robb’s face turns at the title. He shifts, pulling Theon down into the snow underneath him. It’s wet and heavy at his back, soaking through his shirt and already dripping into his spine. Theon doesn’t care, Robb’s mouth is suddenly latched to his, fleeting as it travels down his torso.

“Hey. Hey, Robb, gods!” Theon has to yank on his hair, eliciting a sweet humming noise from Robb. His brain is hot muddied soup but he swears to remember that.

Robb Stark is made for sin, gazes up with his big blue eyes at Theon and suddenly he’s weak. “Yes?” Robb said.

“You sure you want to- you know- you don’t have to, now, that is.” Theon wants him, wants his comfort more.

“I love you, Theon.” He unties his breeches, teeth scraping against his hipbone. His breath is warm, almost too warm, Theon doesn’t want to hurt him but Robb’s a fucking natural it seems, Theon simultaneously wants to strangle and praise whoever gave him the practice.

That was the last time they’d ever spoken of anyone else, Robb was supposed to stay pure until marriage and Theon stayed from the brothels he’d so often frequented. The girls called for him, twirling their hair and promising to do what he liked so much if he’d only come inside, but he always returned to Robb. Love was a tricky thing, the way it made your heart feel, how it ruined anything and everything if it wasn’t with the person of your affections.

Theon is roused out of his daydream by one of the Ironborn, the lone soldier who’d come back and stayed in Winterfell at Balon’s request. Theon knows his father doesn’t want him doing anything foolish, anything stupid but Theon is already elbows deep in stupid so he doesn’t pay the man much mind. Doesn’t even notice the glint in the man’s eyes until he’s being clubbed over the head, hitting the dirt with a thud. As he fades out of consciousness he remembers the last feast Ned Stark held, Arya flicking meat pie at Sansa, Catelyn giving Robb the look to rival all other looks and him watching Robb stop laughing and swing Arya into his arms. It’s one of his happiest memories of them, his family.

 

He comes to and it’s dark, tries to rub at his eyes but his wrists are aching against wood. It takes him a moment to adjust to the hood draped over his face, tries to calm his labored breathing and think. He’s hyperventilating, the fabric getting pulled into his mouth with every breath and it’s starting to burn, deep in his lungs. Theon’s choking, eyes stinging with uncontrollable tears. The hood is ripped from his face then, as he sucks in lungfuls of dank air. It takes time for his eyes to adjust, taking in the giant wooden cross he’s tied against.

A young man stares at him, emotions unreadable. He’s impossibly still, assessing Theon and yet still not helping him. He’s short, dark hair curly and there’s almost a resemblance to Robb. Maybe he’d had enough, decided Theon must pay for what he’d done to the peasant boys.

The man holds up a flask, liquid sloshing the sides. “Would you like some water?” He sounds calm, kind even, and it’s not Robb. Theon tries to say yes, mouth dry and he runs his swollen tongue against cracked, bleeding lips. And then suddenly, the man lets out a sharp, harsh bark of a laugh. Theon watches him pour it out onto the dirt floor, tears rolling down his cheeks. Theon is exhausted, it hits him like a huge rolling wave, His ribs ache with every breath and the young man steps up to where Theon’s hanging, limp.

“I know you must be wondering who I am. I am Ramsay Bolton, and you,” Ramsay clutches his jaw, nails digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks, pressing them against teeth. “Well, you’re Reek.” Theon tries to shake his head, _no that is not my name_ , but the nails dig in harder.

“Be a good boy and tell me who you are, and you can lick the water off the floor.” Ramsey sneers, canines sharp.

Theon is desperate, trying to speak, he has his pride but he’ll pretend to be whoever the fuck he has to be to get a drink. “Reek, my name is Reek.”

The voice doesn’t even sound like his, quiet and shaky and hoarse, and Ramsay just laughs again, pets at his hair and tells him “Good boy.” He feels the nails come away from his cheeks, hot sticky blood running rivulets in their hollow out half moons. Ramsay unties him then, throws him onto the floor and Theon collapses, dragging himself to the little pool of water on the floor. He burns with shame, swollen tongue lapping it up and swiping across the dirt. It does nothing for his thirst.

“Good boy.” He hears it again, a phrase he’d used before, used with Robb.

It had just spilled out of his mouth one night, both of them drunk and fumbling for each other, laughing and becoming a tangled mess of limbs, the wolf and the kraken. Robb had been begging for it, for Theon, and he had scratched down Robb’s chest.

“Are you going to be good?” Robb had moaned at the words, a golden, melodic sound.

Robb cried, high pitched as Theon squeezed at his throat. “Yes, I am, Theon _please_.”

“Be a good boy Robb, and I’ll let you come tonight.” He raked his hands through the messy tangle of curls, the way Robb loved so much, and as soon as he says the words Robb is whimpering, finishing before Theon even had a chance to get his hands around him. He still swears up and down to Theon that was the best night of his life. Ramsay yanks him back to reality, hands nested deep and rough in his hair, jerking his head up. A boot heel connects with his nose, he hears the bones cracking and snapping apart, hears the feral scream ripped from his body and Ramsay won’t stop fucking laughing, but Theon’s not feeling anything, doesn’t feel if he can only focus on Robb, his beautiful eyes and his beautiful smile and the sleepy grin that had greeted him every morning for the past two weeks.

It’s getting harder, every day to remember the man he loved. Reek doesn’t know this man with the auburn curls and bright eyes. Reek knows Ramsay, knows to hold still as the skin is being peeled from his fingers, knows to drink he must lap the water from Ramsay’s boots. Reek’s voice is the one he hears in his head as he fades in and out of sleep at night, small and thin and shaky, nothing like Theon Greyjoy, he doesn’t know Theon Greyjoy. He is Reek.

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided there will be two more parts to this, & if u guys want this to be even darker & sadder let me know. i’m still on the fence about the ending. hope everyone enjoys, next work will be in Robb’s POV.


End file.
